I meant to find her when I came;
Death had the same design;
But the success was his, it seems,
And the discomfit mine.

I meant to tell her how I longed
For just this single time;
But Death had told her so the first,
And she had hearkened him.

To wander now is my abode;
To rest,--to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
To memory and me.

Emily Dickinson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-ment-to-find-her-when-i-came/